Hazel never left Guelder's side. Someone had to stay alert and keep an eye out for treacherous spriggan or other dangers while she was sitting at an abandoned desk, poring over various papers she'd collected from the throne room, hoping to find some guidance in them. What she found, though, only made her more nervous and worried, and there was nothing Hazel could offer to comfort her (apart from a hug, which she refused).

  They cast a fleeting glance at the clues gathered so far. An anonymous letter of threats that might or might not be connected with the vanishing, and explicitly mentioned Guelder's name. An unfinished letter by the baron, addressed to Guelder, regarding an ancient piece of jewelry that could not be found in the throne room. Had it been pocketed by a spriggan? How ancient could it be if even Cephal Lorentus himself had trouble analysing it, and Baron Varn wanted to avail of the expertise of the Storyteller himself? And what was that strange word repeated several times at the end of the last paragraph, suggesting that the baron had been taken by madness mid-sentence?

  What in the storms was a vordakai?

  Something rustled underneath the desk, right at Guelder's feet. As Hazel crouched down to find the source of the noise, they realised that Guelder was absently kicking an empty-looking bag, to which a piece of paper was attached. That had to be another clue. Hazel carefully fished out the bag from under the desk, ripped the paper free, and took a closer look at it. It was a note written in a hasty but steady hand, with beady, rounded letters.

  "What is that?" asked Guelder.

  "Looks like Darlac left us a message."

  "What?!" The baroness perked up at the prospect of new information. "Let me hear!"

  "To whom it may concern. This Bag of Holding contains the remains and possessions..." Hazel paused. However, it was too late to find a gentle way to communicate the tragic news to Edrist. They took a deep breath and continued. "The remains and possessions of the late Tomin Hanvaki of Gralton, an adventurer gone missing and found dead in the mountains near Varnhold Town. Limited preservative treatment done, so handle with care. Whoever finds this bag, make sure to have it delivered to Baroness Guelder in Nightvale. As Varnhold is under barbarian invasion and ongoing mental attack, I have nobody at hand to entrust this task to. Heading to Restov for reinforcements. Wish me luck. Felicia Darlac, General of the Varnling Host."

  The baroness expressed her condolences to Edrist as he took the bag with trembling hands, but couldn't work up the courage to check its content. Then she left him in Harrim's care, who started a long sermon on his favourite topic, that is, how everything returned to dust, and turned to Hazel and the others.

  "So Darlac is still out there," she said. "Probably in Restov."

  "Apparently," remarked Valerie, "that's where generals end up when the ground becomes too hot under their feet."

  Linzi giggled, and Hazel, too, suppressed a smirk, thinking of Kassil's inglorious flight to Restov when the monsters had flooded Tuskdale.

  "So it was Darlac behind Lady Jamandi's letter," they said. "That makes sense."

  "Then why didn't Jamandi mention her?" wondered Linzi.

  "Perhaps she asked her not to?" mused Valerie. "To save face or something?"

  "Shouldn't we try to contact her?" suggested the bard.

  "How?" asked Hazel. "She is inaccessible to Sendings. You cannot even appear in her nightmares, since she is unable to dream. And to top it all off, the spriggan ate all the birds from the rookery. Wherever she might be now, she is out of our reach."

  "Be that as it may," said Guelder, cutting the topic short, "let us hope she is safe in Restov, and let us focus on the missing baron and his people instead, those who we know are in trouble. Barbarians using psychic powers... does that ring a bell with you, Amiri?"

  Amiri shook her head.

  "Not really. Best go to the spriggan cave they holed themselves up in and ask them. Unless it's my tribe. In that case, count me out."

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  "Also, does the word vordakai mean anything in Hallit?"

  "Not where I'm from. In fact, it doesn't sound Hallit at all."

  "All right then," said Guelder. "I hope Baron Varn will forgive us if we rifle through his supplies and take whatever we might need. Hazel, estimate the value of what we requisition, because once we retrieve the baron, you will have to discuss reimbursement with his Treasurer. Our next stop will be the spriggan cave."

  "The sun is setting soon," pointed out Hazel. "What is your plan regarding our night rest?"

  "We shall set up camp out in the countryside. I do not know about you all, but I would not be comfortable having a rest here, in a ghost town populated by allies of tenuous loyalty."

  As the field team left the keep, the first thing they saw was the raven, perching on another vantage point.

  "Hypocrite!" it cawed. "Why give them hope? You'll kill and rob them anyway. That's what you do best!"

  Guelder raised an eyebrow.

  "Ah, so you speak our language. Excellent. Then perhaps you could enlighten me about the fate of the baron and his people? What happened to them? Where are they now?"

  "Thieves, murderers, intruders, like you! They thought they owned this land! Well, this time they were owned all right!"

  "Would you mind being a bit more specific?"

  The raven spread its wings to look even bigger than it was.

  "What was once great will rise again! And the likes of you..." Interrupting its speech, it settled back and changed its tone. "Wait. Have you even introduced yourself?"

  Before Guelder could give an answer, Hazel hurled the rock they had been hiding in their pocket towards her conversation partner. The bird launched itself into the air, cawing indignantly, but didn't leave. It just circled above their heads in a safe height.

  "What was that for?" exclaimed Guelder. "I was an inch away from making it spill the beans!"

  "I introduced you all right," said Hazel with a naughty grin. "You, my dear baroness, are the rock that will smash its smug face. There is no need for it to know more."

  "Fine," sighed Guelder. "Hazel, as a reward for your timely intervention, yours is the honour of escorting Master Edrist back to the bridge over the Crooked. From there, he will hopefully have a safe journey home. Once you are done, meet us at the spriggan cave, to the south, near the source of the Little Sellen."

  "But –"

  "No buts, Hazel. I trust your survival and orientation skills the most. It has to be you."

  Hazel swallowed their further protestations and misgivings, and nodded in acceptance.

  The baroness turned to Harrim, who had already given up on trying to comfort the grieving brother with his gospel of doom.

  "Harrim, once we are out of town, I need you to initiate a Sending to Kassil. I want a garrison of fifty soldiers in Varnhold Town, three days from now. Just in case the spriggan do not keep their word, or the barbarians realise there are better lodging options available than an overgrown cave. It goes without saying that, once we find Baron Varn, he will get his capital back immediately. Also, I want Kassil to move some of the troops to the Varnhold border, in case the barbarian problem spills over to the west."

  Hazel nodded, almost imperceptibly, flashing a half-smile of approval towards Guelder, who purposefully avoided their gaze.

  "This is a slippery slope, Your Grace," warned Valerie.

  "Luckily, I have you to keep me on the right path," snapped the baroness. "This is an extraordinary scenario we did not calculate with when we signed the treaty. Darlac's note made it clear that she wanted military support. I am ready to give her just that. If Lady Jamandi does the same, all the better."

  Valerie didn't seem entirely convinced, but didn't push the matter any further.

  Grudgingly, Hazel put an arm around the devastated Edrist's shoulder and took farewell from the team. They left Guelder for last. Their long, reassuring embrace did little to ease up the nervous tension in her muscles. It was hard to tell if she was worried for her friends, as she said, or tormented by her conscience over what she was preparing to do. Hazel could only hope she would get over it.

  If only this weren't so hard on her. Hazel found themself hoping that the help she was bringing would come too late. The baron's untimely death would make everything so much easier for Guelder. She could even feel herself a good person while taking over his lands. Darlac might be a problem, though, if she'd really made it to Brevoy. During the trip to the border and back, Hazel would have plenty of time to try and come up with a few ideas for that scenario. Edrist probably wouldn't want to do much small talk, anyway.